


nouvelle cuisine

by Siria



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Community: picfor1000, F/M, POV Character of Color, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-04
Updated: 2010-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was amazing how even a room this large could feel full: the air heavy with laughter and conversation, the strains of a string quartet, the glow of hundreds of small lights strung across the ceiling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nouvelle cuisine

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Trin for betaing. Written for the picfor1000 challenge, to [this prompt](http://www.flickr.com/photos/toualee/3386459598/).

It was amazing how even a room this large could feel full: the air heavy with laughter and conversation, the strains of a string quartet, the glow of hundreds of small lights strung across the ceiling. Nyota had to carefully navigate through the crush of so many dignitaries, glass of wine held up high in an attempt not to spill it all over the front of her freshly pressed dress uniform. Most of the time, the Academy was a school, but for at least a few weeks of every year it came alive as the showpiece of the Federation—honour students mingling with professors, with Starfleet officers and Earth politicians, with ambassadors from Andoria and Tellar and half a dozen worlds Nyota knew only from her textbooks. It was an honour for a student to be invited; Nyota's cheeks ached from smiling, despite how her new dress boots pinched at her toes.

Some of the other students were still dutifully mingling—the young Russian kid, there because he had solved a famous physics problem; Gaila, the Academy's first student from Orion—but Nyota decided she needed another drink. She eased her way over to where long tables were groaning beneath the weight of food. She poured herself another glass of wine and looked over the buffet; it had been a long time since breakfast. There was some Andorian food in front of her, but most of it was American-style and not vegetarian—skewers laden with chunks of meat and thick-cut vegetables; mini gourmet hamburgers; tiny sausages in pastry. Each platter was labelled in several languages—_Typical Earth food_, Nyota translated from Andorian. She repressed a sigh and moved on. The vegetarian dishes didn't seem much more appetising. They were either yellowing from over-cooking, or smothered in cheese—an East African childhood hadn't prepared her for the fondness Americans had for cheese served with everything.

She drifted down the table—a large quiche; a jar full of some Tellarite delicacy, their chitinous legs scratching against the glass; insubstantial-looking canapés—until she reached the section with Vulcan food. This looked more promising: plates of crisp vegetables cut into neat cubes, served without dressing or dip. Nyota picked up a piece and popped it into her mouth. It crunched satisfyingly, gritty and sweet on her tongue. She reached for another.

"Cadet Uhura."

Nyota looked up to see Commander Spock standing beside her. He had a plate in one hand, cubes of fruits and vegetables lined up on it in two neat rows. In his dress uniform, his posture seemed even more upright than usual; Nyota wondered if it hurt, to hold yourself that stiffly apart. "Commander Spock," she said, nodding in greeting.

Spock inclined his head at the platter of food. "You have sampled the _pla-savas_ and the _sash-savas_?"

Nyota was momentarily surprised—Spock had hardly spoken to her beyond what was needed for her work as his teaching assistant—but soon gave herself a mental shake. Spock was Vulcan; that didn't mean he was incapable of a simple conversation, if maybe not an idle one. "Yes," she said. "I've tried some Vulcan foods before, but only prepared dishes—at that Vulcan restaurant in Richmond? Never raw vegetables. They're interesting. I like them."

One of his eyebrows twitched. "You have tried Vulcan cuisine?"

"Starfleet could post me anywhere. I thought I should sample as wide a range of foods as I can now—might save me a diplomatic incident or two later," Nyota said wryly.

Both of Spock's eyebrows rose slightly. "And?" he said, as if he'd sensed something unspoken at the end of her last sentence.

"And… it's fun." Nyota shrugged, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "Since I took over the chorale, even singing's become scheduled for me, so food's my one hobby. I don't have access to a kitchen here, and I'm not a fan of the synthesised canteen meals. So a few months ago, I started working my way through all the ethnic restaurants within a few kilometres of here—everything from Korean to Andorian. It's a good study break, and I've found that when people are far away from home… well, they want food to taste right, like home. That means making it with care. No synthesisers."

There was a long pause when Nyota finished speaking. For one terrified moment, Nyota thought that maybe she'd blown the longest conversation she'd ever had with Spock—had she been babbling? Offended some Vulcan social norm?—but then Spock said, "I believe I have passed a restaurant near campus which specialises in Tanzanian and Kenyan foods."

"_Karibu_," Nyota said slowly, unsure how to read this. For a Vulcan to introduce a conversational tangent, she knew, meant that they were bringing up a subject of importance. "I know it—it's one of my favourite places." That was true—no matter how often she tried to get the food synthesisers to produce _ugali_, it never seemed to taste quite right.

"Perhaps"—though Spock normally spoke with precision, Nyota sensed he was choosing his words with more than usual care—"you might accompany me there at some point. As a guide."

Nyota felt her cheeks heat.

"After all," Spock said carefully, putting his plate down on the edge of the table and not meeting her eyes, "by certain calculations, we are both a great distance from home."

"That's true," Nyota said. It was odd to think of Dar es Salaam—a city by the sea—and Shi'Kahr—a city on the edge of a vast desert canyon—as being similar in any real way. But maybe they were—they were both starting places, both home to the first steps that had taken them so far away. Nyota took a breath and decided, because no matter what happened, this wouldn't be the last place for her—there would always be new frontiers. But maybe she could head towards them with someone. "I'd like to go with you. A great deal."

When Spock met her eyes, he almost smiled.


End file.
